In Poetry

I am born to a garden full of snow.
A snowman stands, tall and proud.
Mother and Father built him together,
a bright, boastful beacon of what life has to offer.

Young and full of energy,
I race to follow suit.
But nothing in life is easy.
I know nothing of work.
Ignorance is bliss.

The sun steadily rises, gardens grow brighter,
My outlook on life darker, as my shadow
of Ignorance is lifted.
I’ll have to work for Frosty.
But first I must learn to shovel,
then to build! Does the learning
ever stop?

My body and mind ache.
John Brown’s father
bought him a digger.
Engine roars to life.
Mike Geraghty,
cloaked by torn jacket,
builds by hand.
The unfairness of it strikes me.

The sun gets higher.
And I grow wiser
to the ways of life.
Mother tells me what will happen
come morning.

Dauntingly I realise
it was all for nothing;
come morning I face defeat,
my work, reduced to sleet!
Panic grips.

Across from my snowman,
stands my parent’s,
I cannot comprehend
why my dreams, hopes, aspirations,
should flow into the earth, or
why my parents snowman
should melt away from mine.

The most beautiful girl
I’ve seen, delicately wrapped
in hat and scarf, stopped
in the driveway.
She, oblivious to the grandeur
of my majestic snowman,
shyly introduces herself.

My face turns redder
than the cherries for his eyes.
She transforms him in ways
that I was blind to before.
A warm glow is kindled
beneath my winter jacket.

Together we build
a better snowman.
Hand in hand
We face the Dawn together.

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